The Fog
by LuLeo
Summary: There were few things in the world that Germany was afraid of. He had faced many things normally considered 'scary', and not even batted an eye. It just wasn't in his nature. But when his boss shot himself in the head, and the fog that had clouded his mind for the last few years disappeared, he was scared. Rated T to be safe.


Okay, so this is based on two little head canons of mine, the first being that a country can't defy their ruler, no matter what, and the second being that if a country gets a really bad ruler, and being forced to do horrible things against their will, they lock themselves up in their own minds. Like a kind of self defence mechanism to protect their sanity. They remain in this 'auto-pilot' mode until the ruler either dies, or is removed from a position of power. Make any sense?

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy :D

There were few things in the world that Germany was afraid of. He had faced many things normally considered 'scary', and not even batted an eye. It just wasn't in his nature.  
But when his boss shot himself in the head, and the fog that had clouded his mind for the last few years disappeared, he was scared.

He found himself kneeling on the ground, surrounded by the allies. Beyond them was the ruins of his beloved capital. He could still hear bombs being dropped in the distance, along with gunfire. But it was clear that the fight was slowly ceasing. He then noticed that the material on one of his knees had a big hole in it, and the skin beneath was torn and bleeding. If it was from the fall from standing to kneeling, or from some other time, he didn't know. He couldn't remember. He tried to think back, to figure out what had happened, but his memories was a jumbled mess. One of the last things he could remember clearly was talking to his brother. How Gilbert had felt worried over his new boss. Germany had brushed the concern of. He hadn't listened, too high on the hopes of his people.

After that he could only grasp bits and pieces. But even that was enough for him to understand that whatever had been happening under Hitler's rule hadn't been good. His brother had been right...

...his brother!

Germany looker around frantically, searching for that familiar mop of white hair. It was only then that he noticed that England had crouched down next to him was saying something.  
"-istening to me? Hey, lad, focus." England snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

"What...?" He managed to croak, feeling confusion and dread grow stronger in his chest by the second.

"Good. Now that I have your attention, I'll ask you again. Do you know what have just happened?"

He nodded, mostly on instinct, only to then change his mind and shake his head. He did know what had happened, but at the same time, somehow, he _didn't_. That, or he just didn't want to. "I...where...where's my brother?" He then said, his gaze once again beginning to flack between the faces present.  
England sighed, "We don't know. Russia and a couple of his men is out looking for him as we speak."

Germany paled. Desperately, he tried to remember when he'd last seen him, but everything he came up with were too muddled to make any sense. He put a hand in his hair, feeling like pulling it out. Everything was just so...wrong.

- - -

England sighed again and got up. It was no use trying to talk to Germany yet. The poor fellow was shaking. He turned to France, who stood the closest to him, "Any news from Russia?"

France shook his head, "No, nothing yet. Though, we're starting to doubt that the transmitter still works properly. It took quite the beating when we entered the city." He gestured to where a few soldiers sat and tried to get some response from a radio which looked as tired as England felt, and that was saying something.

"What a mess," England said, shaking his head. Beside him, America cleared his throat warily, throwing a wary look at the defeated German.  
"You sure he's safe now? He's not gonna act up again or something, is he?" He spoke with a low voice, not wanting to be heard by the person his words concerned.

"Yes," England answered, voice certain, "Hitler's dead and the war is over. There is no reason for him to shut down any longer."

America still didn't seem convinced, "But what if-"  
"There is no 'what ifs', America." England interrupted, "Germany is free from Hitler's control, and that's the end of it."

Despite his words, America continued to throw distrustful glances at the fallen German. This time, he opted not to say anything. America was young. He'd learn, given some time.  
His musings was cut short when voices echoed from the outskirts of the provisionally camp they'd set up.

Russia and his men were back.

- - -

All watched in solemn silence as the small party of soldiers got closer. There where five of them, and at the front walked Russia, steps heavy even for him. The sound of their footsteps brought Germany's gaze up from the ground.  
His breath caught in his throat. In his arms, Russia carried the still form of Prussia. His brother's head was neatly tucked against Russia's shoulder, and one arm had fallen down the side. It dangled with every step, much like a puppet's would without its strings.

What caused Germany to let out a small, pained sound as Russia got closer was the amount of blood seeping through his brother's clothes. He tried to calm himself with the thought that it could just as well be somebody else's blood, but as Russia came to a stop before him, it was awfully clear that is wasn't.

Russia, without uttering a word, carefully handed the limp body over to Germany. Prussia's head hung lifeless from his shoulders, so Germany had to be quick to support it with his arm. Then, eyes surrounded by white eyelashes slowly fluttered opened. They where dim, unfocused and filled with so much pain. None the less, a tired smile graced his brother's bloodied lips.  
"L-Lu...", a gurgling sound escaped his throat, before he coughed, more blood streaming down his cheek, "Lud...wig..."

Germany choked back a sob, tears already building in his eyes, "Shh, brother, I'm here. Please, don't speak, everything's...everything's going to be okay." He managed, gently removing a few strands of white hair that threatened to fall in Prussia's eyes.

Prussia's smile didn't falter, "I'm...I'm so happy...to see you, W-West-," Another wet cough, "I...thought I'd...lost you."

Now he could feel the tears running down his face freely, "I'm so sorry, brother, I...I couldn't-...!"  
Prussia silenced him with with a small shake of his head. Slowly, he reached up, his arm shaking from the effort, and stroked Germany's cheek. His fingers left a red trail behind them. When he spoke next, his voice was but a whisper.

"I'm so...so proud of you."

Germany was quick to catch the hand as it went limp. "How can you say that? I-," Everything stilled, and it felt like something that had always been in his heart had been roughly pulled out. It was hard to speak. "...Brother?" He received no response. Prussia's eyes was half-closed, empty red staring out at nothing. He tightened the grip on the others hand, and shook his shoulders, "Brother!"

Prussia remained unresponsive and completely still. His chest no longer moved, his lungs already taken their last breaths. His heart had ceased its ancient beat.

The kingdom of Prussia was no more.

Left was only a little brother's desperate plea for forgiveness. For his beloved sibling to wake up.

To not be left alone.


End file.
